


Unanticipated

by daintylemonsquare



Category: Rise of the Demigods (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, M/M, Porn with some plot, Tommy said they would fuck, Unprotected Sex, Zendog, canon complaint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 13:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daintylemonsquare/pseuds/daintylemonsquare
Summary: Cyrog manages to convince Zendar to take a break before he goes looking for his friends.





	Unanticipated

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a fantasy world so like what even are condoms but kids, please use protection when having sex irl. Thanks.

Following the success of their mission and return of Tibor, the village figured a celebration was in order. All work finished soon after their return. Tables and chairs of varying sizes were brought out of homes. Banners crisscrossed the roof. Orbs of light fluttered about. First dim in the setting sun, then becoming more vibrant as night encroached. A beguiling mix of scents filled the air, from savory meats on a grill to candied fruit to barrels of wine that were saved for such an occasion. Several musicians banged out a jolly tune on a makeshift stage. Pleasant chatter filled the air, punctuated by a few gusts of laughter from time to time. 

Zendar sat on the outskirts of it, observing. Sad as it was, he’d never been surrounded by glee as bright as what was in front of him. He wasn’t sure how to act around it. He didn’t know where to put his hands, let alone know the right words to say. All he was certain of was the whole consuming until excess aspect of a party. Sodrin tried to throw him into the mix earlier. After all, it was his success too, not just Sodrin and Pif’s. Nevertheless, Zendar managed to slip away to the spot he was in now. 

Pif wasn’t the socializing type too, perhaps even less than Zendar. However, Pif had Tibor. He sat by Tibor’s side despite the attention he got from children only a few years younger than Pif. Zendar wasn’t anywhere near them but he could see the shapes of their shadows facing each other, catching up on the last few days. They had each other. Zendar didn’t have anyone in this village. Not right now. He was in no position to inject himself to a community that he just joined. 

Isolation was his default. There was no bite of loneliness. He didn’t yearn to be folded into the community. He nursed his drink. He let his mind wander to where and how he was going to start looking for his friends while making sure no one snuck up behind him. 

Zendar took a long gulp of his wine when he felt a familiar, crackling presence walk towards his table from just outside of where the lights reached. Cyrog’s heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He turned to it. He radiated a hint of static. Just enough for tiny pricks of it to tickle the underside of his jaw. 

“This is for you too, you know.” His voice rumbled softly. The sound of it had the hair on the back of Zendar’s neck standing. His torso clenched with a random sense of anticipation. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps it was their previous sparring session. Cyrog seemed the type to start a fight just for fun, for exercise. He took another sip from his cup. 

After licking his lips, Zendar said, “I know.”

Cyrog chuckled. “You should get used to it. You are a demigod after all. Revelry is part of that life.” 

“Unlike you, I haven’t considered myself a demigod for long,” Zendar countered. 

Cyrog hummed, his thumb moving across Zendar’s shoulder before letting go. “Fair point. I assure you that it will be easier to be part of that some day.” He paused. Zendar nodded. “Regardless, I understand the preference of solitude. You’ve had a hectic few days. You earned the break, I suppose.” 

Zendar wasn’t used to those either. Back with his mother, it was a constant state of training and jobs. At the Temple of Udea, every nerve in his body was on edge and his mind remained restless. The mere idea of a break away from all of this was alien to him. And tempting. 

“Are you trying to keep me here for longer?” Zendar asked, not looking at the Cyrog, taking another sip of wine. It was strong but Zendar still had all of his wits in a neat line. 

There was a pause. Zendar had a feeling that there was a smile in that pause. “I’m not trying to do that. I know you want to be reunited with your batch of demigods sooner rather than later. A one-day break to relax wouldn’t hurt though. Those do wonders after an excursion such as yours. Hence the celebration. I won’t be sending Pif or Sodrin out right away. I like to let them have a little bit of fun.” 

“How...gracious of you,” Zendar said. 

“Thank you,” Cyrog replied. He tapped his knuckle on the table once and added, “Come.” 

“Where?” This time, Zendar turned to the direction of Cyrog’s voice. He watched Cyrog recede into the darkness, getting a better view of his form. 

“Someplace quieter. Someplace you’d much prefer than all of that.” Cyrog gestured to the party. “There will still be drink and food, if that’s all that you’re looking for.” 

Zendar, goblet in tow, was already easing himself off the bench as Cyrog spoke. “Quiet would be nice,” he said. 

“Alright. Stay close. I wouldn’t want to lose you in the night,” Cyrog said. Zendar couldn’t tell if it was in jest or not. 

They walked in comparative silence. Cyrog pointed a few shapes in the dark. A block of homes, the path to the beach, a few flower beds, a view from a cliff. Nothing that Zendar could see, but it gave him a better lay of the land. At least he wasn’t going to walk off a cliff any time soon. The flowers smelled nice. The ocean breeze was pleasant. Cyrog’s energy was palpable beside him. As the path to wherever Cyrog was bringing him to forced them to walk closer, Zendar noted that whatever emanated from Cyrog wasn’t warmth. There were edges to it. It wasn’t disconcerting but it was far from comforting. 

When they arrived at a cave opening, Zendar’s step stuttered for a moment. “Where are we?” 

“My quarters,” Cyrog said, standing at the entrance. Zendar took a sip of his wine. His heart was picking up a jogging pace. “Well, more of an office really. For long meetings and conversations. The one I actually sleep in is much larger. Come in. And don’t look so apprehensive. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be long dead.” 

“Very comforting,” Zendar said, approaching the entrance. 

“It’s the truth. That’s all I can give you.” He put a hand on the back of Zendar’s shoulder blades, drifting lower for a moment and then drifted away before it reached the small of his back Still, Zendar shivered. He was taught composure. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t cringe, he didn’t shiver, no matter the circumstance. He learned to anticipate such environs that would cause him to give away his position or show any sort of weakness. A lingering touch of a dragon wasn’t something he was prepared for. 

Regardless of whether or not Cyrog noticed it, Zendar followed. As unsettled he was by the reaction his body chose, this situation promised something interesting. 

With a wave of his hand, Cyrog lit several candles at once and a fireplace crackled to life. The room glowed and the shadows’ shapes grew more prominent in front of him. There wasn’t much to it. A few chairs, one large table towards the back, and a smaller table about six feet in front of it. A selection of food filled the air. Two bottles of drink sat by the platter. That table already had two chairs situated across one another. They were large and sturdy. Zendar ran his fingers along the back and noted how the wood was carved into intricate filigree. 

“Sit,” Cyrog said alongside a scrape of wood to stone. 

“Why have you brought me here?” Zendar asked, still standing. 

“You know why I brought you here,” Cyrog said while nonchalantly unbuttoning his cloak and shrugging it off. Zendar’s mouth went dry. He drank his wine, which did almost nothing to help. 

After a pause, Cyrog continued, “I’d like to get to know you better over some food and drinks. Far from the noise. I want you to be comfortable here and if you need to ease into our social norms then so be it. Consider this a step forward.” 

Zendar remained quiet. There were enough shadows for him to get out of here if need be. “I was under the impression that you already knew much about me, and more.” He thought about the shadow snake inside of him, thankful that it didn’t decide to show up at the moment. 

Cyrog waggled his head in acquiescence. 

“And you gave me this,” Zendar raised his hand and showed the ring Cyrog gave him when he returned. “Aren’t I already part of the community?” 

“There’s a difference between acceptance and assimilation,” Cyrog replied. “You wouldn’t be leaving us so soon and so readily if you were part of the community.” 

“I will return.” Zendar sat down but kept his back straight and one leg into the shadow of the table. 

“I know, but you see my point.” Cyrog took a piece from the platter. “We digress. Tell me about your plans. What does the next year look for you? That’s something I don’t know. I know a lot of your past and your abilities but what you want in the future is a blank for me.” 

“I admit...I haven’t thought that far. I’m more of a day by day type of person,” he answered. 

“Think about it and tell me.”

“You first,” Zendar dared, drinking the rest of his wine. 

Cyrog hummed and he moved to pour what smelled like more wine that smelled much stronger than what they were serving down at the village proper. “Another drink?” 

“Maybe later.” 

“Suit yourself. What do you want to know?” 

Zendar didn’t think he’d actually get that far. Cyrog seemed like the type to deflect any prying with relative ease. He fiddled with his ring. “Where did you grow up? How did you find out that you were a demigod?” Cyrog made a sound of amusement and took a swig of wine. He leaned forward. 

He didn’t know how long they were speaking. Their conversation blended into one another. Stories of their past lives, before they were demigods, before this commune. Stories from before Zendar showed up. Stories about his friends, though there weren’t much of those. What surprised Zendar the most was their ability to share a little laugh after a ridiculous story. Then again, it could’ve been the wine. Not that he was completely down under. There was a mild numbness in his face and a certain fluidity in his motions. His shirt was open and the fireplace wasn’t helping. He was still on high alert for something to go wrong. But for the longest time, nothing did. 

They reached a lull in the conversation. Cyrog poured himself his third cup, though he didn’t seem to be affected by it. Most of the food had gone. The candles were getting low, a few of them extinguishing. 

“I’m glad you found your way to us,” Cyrog said. 

“Likewise.” Then Zendar added, “You know, I’ll take you up on that day of relaxation.” 

Cyrog leaned back against his chair and seemed to purr. There was no other way Zendar could describe the sound that emanated from his chest. “Will you now?” 

Zendar’s body pulsed between warm and hot. “Why not? The food is nice. The company is serviceable.” 

Cyrog laughed. “Thank you.” 

Zendar couldn’t help a chuckle himself. “Do you know where I’m staying at? All I know is the boat and that—I suppose—cell with the cloaker. Should I go back there?” 

Cyrog considered it for a moment, then said, “You can stay here tonight.” 

Zendar raised his eyebrows, his heartbeats climbing a slow incline. “But there’s no—” 

“There’s a bed right through that door.” Cyrog nodded to his left. He took one more swig and stood up. He slinked around the table, toward Zendar. He propped his hand on the back of Zendar’s chair, leaning over. “That is, if you don’t mind my company.” 

Zendar could smell the wine in his own mouth. His skin began to sizzle. He raised a hand, shaking for a moment before Zendar seized his nerves. It settled on Cyrog’s hip. “I don’t mind,” Zendar said as Cyrog slid one knee onto the chair and pressed their mouths together. Cyrog didn’t hesitate to slide his tongue into Zendar’s mouth and Zendar offered no further resistance. 

Cyrog was on the chair, on Zendar’s lap. He was pushing the rest of Zendar’s clothes off of his shoulders. Zendar’s hands slipped underneath Cyrog’s loose top. Cyrog’s skin was cool to the touch but they warmed up fast. He was smooth, smoother where the scales appeared along the spine. His muscles rippled right before he slipped his tongue out of Zendar’s mouth so he could take his shirt off. Before long, they were kissing again. 

Zendar shuddered as Cyrog’s nails grazed down his torso, his abs, and reaching in between them. Already he struggled against the fabric of his trousers. Cyrog’s weight, his shape, his friction were easy to pay attention to. As Cyrog undid the rest of his clothes, Zendar cupped Cyrog’s pert bottom, earning a smile and a slight nibble on his lip. With his other hand, Zendar held the back of Cyrog’s head. He pushed them closer, eager to taste more of him. 

After a quick adjustment to their position, Zendar gasped lightly when Cyrog freed his erect form from his trousers and squeezed. Cyrog moved his lips away. He left a trail of kisses from the corner of Zendar’s mouth, across his jaw, to his neck, stroking him all the while. Zendar reveled in it for a second before moving his hands towards Cyrog’s trousers and unknotting them too. 

When Zendar had Cyrog loose too, the only way Cyrog signaled his pleasure was in a sigh. He bucked into Zendar’s tight grasp for a moment, and Zendar marveled at the entire shape and motion of him. Then Cyrog whispered, “How do you want to do this?” 

Zendar caught his sentence by the teeth then by the tongue. Then he replied, with a grin, “You first.” 

With one more kiss, Cyrog stepped off the chair and pushed the rest of his trousers down and moved out of his boots. Zendar cupped himself. His eyes wandered up and down Cyrog’s body just before Cyrog vanished with a wink. Zendar sat up, face falling. His body grew cold fast. Cyrog reappeared, holding up a little vial. Relief had Zendar melting into his seat. 

Cyrog laughed. “I wasn’t going to do that to you.” 

Zendar grunted. “What’s that in your hand?” 

“Some oils from the garden.” He set the vial on the table and yanked Zendar’s chair closer by the arms. His long fingers caressed the side of Zendar’s cheek as he climbed onto him again. “Is this your first time?” He purred again, naked body pressing against every inch of Zendar it could reach. He pressed down and Zendar held down an easy, almost desperate moan. 

“No. Not necessarily,” he said, thinking back to those moments he explored his own body. 

Cyrog considered this for a moment. Zendar expected him to call him out. Instead, he said, “But this is your first time with another man?” 

“Yes,” Zendar admitted. 

“Then you should know enough,” Cyrog said right before attaching their lips again. 

And Zendar did know enough. He knew the motions with his wrist and the varying grips. He knew where to put his fingers when Cyrog doused them with oil. He recognized the tightness around his middle finger when Cyrog gave him permission. It was an uncomfortable position but Cyrog insisted to stay on top of him on the chair. Zendar didn’t mind too much. As long as Cyrog was giving his lips and member attention, the cramped space was nothing more than another challenge to beat. 

Soon, after two fingers, a few minutes of prodding and stroking and hoping to get Cyrog to react louder, and breathless, mindless kissing, Cyrog eased Zendar’s fingers out of him. In a sudden motion, Zendar slammed his middle and ring finger back up until his knuckles met smooth flesh. Cyrog choked on his breath. His nails dug into one of Zendar’s horns. He laughed. “My, my, Sir Garrul. I may have underestimated your abilities.” His thumb ran around and played with the head of Zendar’s erect flesh, forcing a shiver out of him. 

“You’ve just been so quiet. I didn’t know if I was doing anything right. I figured a surprise won’t hurt,” Zendar countered with only a mild stutter. He pulled his fingers out. 

Cyrog tugged on his horns. He pressed his nose against Zendar’s. After some maneuvering, he eased Zendar into him without so much as a hitch in his breath. Zendar fought and fought a groan. He bit down his lips, then his cheeks, all the while Cyrog caressed his face with one hand. His tail wound around one of the chair’s legs. “Don’t be shy. It’s just the two of us here.” Cyrog rolled his hips and squeezed his thighs around Zendar. He was still going down, inch by inch. When he reached the base with his ass and clenched around the hardened flesh, Zendar gulped and released a broken moan. 

Cyrog inhaled as if tasting the air Zendar released and finding it delectable. “Yes,” he hissed. His tone had Zendar’s body trembling with exhilaration. Those tremors grew as Cyrog rocked his hips. The friction that Zendar had long been exposed to grew and compounded in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He held back another moan, releasing it in a whimper. Cyrog tugged on his horn again, perhaps giving him a better view of Zendar’s face. “Yes,” he hissed again. 

Zendar’s hand rose from Cyrog’s thighs. His nails dragged along Cyrog’s scales until he covered both of Cyrog’s firm, rippling cheeks. He dug in. Cyrog cinched his body around Zendar and his nerves shook with electricity. His muscles grew taut and hot. A sheen of sweat started to appear, pooling in the valleys of his abs. He was maintaining control on his breath but it was akin to the control he had on it in the middle of a workout. This was made more difficult when Cyrog shoved their lips back together. 

Cyrog was picking up the pace. He bucked and twisted his hips to a beat that Zendar’s mind couldn’t comprehend other than the mounting euphoria that every motion promised. His face was now pressed against the space between Cyrog’s shoulder and chest. His arms were tight around Cyrog’s torso. He wanted this to last for as long as he could manage. It wasn’t just his pleasure he was chasing, but also Cyrog’s. He wasn’t holding his moans. When Cyrog asked him if he liked the way he moved, it was the only way Zendar could reply aside from nodding into his skin. He kissed and bit and marked Cyrog’s chest in hopes of finding a way to muffle himself and hide his weakening resolve. 

Then, right at the cusp of no return, Cyrog slowed and pushed Zendar back into his chair. His tail snaked around Cyrog’s arm as he whined. Cyrog was moving off of him. In response, Cyrog cupped his face and sat on his lap, kissing him almost as if he was trying to leave Zendar truly breathless. It did placate Zendar’s wanting body.

“How about another position, hm?” Cyrog murmured and punctuated it with an almost innocent peck on the lips. He moved off Zendar and turned around. He propped his elbows on the table.

Zendar stood without questioning or hesitation. The chair toppled over, making Cyrog laugh. Zendar lost no time sliding himself back into Cyrog. He gripped Cyrog’s hips and led himself into a snug position, thrusting as soon as he found it. Cyrog hummed. Cyrog reached over and gripped the other side of the table, head lolling down. Zendar’s core tightened as he sought after that earlier rise of euphoria. He ground their bodies together, revelling in the feel of Cyrog’s smooth form on and around him. He placed kisses along Cyrog’s back, to his shoulder, to his neck, earning as little as a quiet chuckle and short bursts of breath. For a moment, Zendar found it unfair. The next moment, he scolded himself for not enjoying every second of Cyrog’s plaint body. 

He reached around to Cyrog’s erect dick. He dragged his fingers along the underside of the base then began stroking. Then came the first, full-bodied moan from Cyrog. Zendar tightened his hold and hastened his pace. Cyrog shook under touch. He cinched around Zendar’s form, causing them to pause. When Zendar began to move, he timed the flick of his wrist to his thrusts. 

Cyrog grabbed his wrist and yanked Zendar away from his dick. With his free hand, he pushed himself off the table and grabbed Zendar’s other hand. He threaded them together, pressing one hand against his chest and the other right above his pelvis. Zendar’s arms tightened around him, keeping their balance, though he wasn’t sure how long he could remain upright with him so far up Cyrog’s body and without much space to do a complete thrust. 

At this point, they were just grinding into each other. Cyrog faced Zendar and led them into yet another fiery kiss. There was a crackle and spike of static between their lips, across Zendar’s cheekbones. It zipped from his face down his spine. After the lightning came the thunder. Their hips were moving in tandem. The sound of their skin meeting harmonized with Zendar’s moans hiding behind grunts of pleasure. Zendar moved his tail up one of Cyrog’s legs. As it climbed closer and closer to his crotch, teasing the inside of his thigh, Zendar finally earned a shudder from Cyrog. He smiled against Cyrog’s parted lips. Then another one what his tail curled around Cyrog’s hard flesh and began to twist around it. 

“Stop that,” Cyrog growled without malice. 

Zendar mashed their lips together with a hard thrust. Cyrog gulped. “Don’t tell me what to do,” Zendar muttered. 

Cyrog let go of Zendar’s hands and pulled the tail away. Zendar used that free hand to hold Cyrog’s neck. They shared a smile. “You first,” Cyrog said. 

Before long, Zendar was at the edge. His mind grew silent. There was nothing but movement and sweat. His pleasure echoed along the stone walls. Cyrog was now joining the melody with his own sounds that had Zendar’s body feel feverish. Cyrog arched into him. His lips left haphazard kisses on Zendar’s cheeks and jaw. Half-words and half-syllables tumbled out of Zendar’s mouth as his body stretched and stretched and stretched towards a climax despite the promise of a cramp. His muscles constricted until he couldn’t breath. Then he inhaled so much his balance twirled. 

A hot eruption of volcanic pleasure rocked the very foundation of Zendar’s system. He cried out in a way that he never had in so long. Every nerve vibrated as he unloaded in Cyrog. His steady hands turned unsteady. His joints turned into marshmallows. He could sense Cyrog’s own tremors as if they were his own. “That’s it,” Cyrog moaned. “There you go.” A moan got caught in Zendar’s throat as Cyrog continued to rock and twist his hips around Zendar’s sensitive form. 

When Cyrog pulled away, Zendar’s body shook with a kind of withdrawal he hadn’t realized was possible. What he craved was right in front of him, yet it felt like years since he had it. 

Cyrog leaned on the table, stroking himself. He held Zendar’s shoulder and said, “On your knees. I’m not done yet.” 

Zendar complied faster than he ever did. Mostly due to the fact that his legs were turning into a softer substance and the pleasure weighed on him like a sack of high quality pillows. A hand curled around his horn and led him to Cyrog’s crotch. “Open,” Cyrog demanded softly. Zendar complied. He held on to Cyrog’s thighs as a hearty serving of flesh was pushed into his willing mouth. Zendar could feel his legs wobble. One hand climbed up Cyrog’s body and he shuddered. 

Cyrog pushed himself as far as he could go in Zendar’s mouth. The fill of his flesh sent sparks of pleasure along the ridges of Zendar’s ears. Then he began to thrust into Zendar’s mouth in measured motions. Cyrog was giving him a pace. Before long, Zendar memorized it. 

Zendar followed the tempo set, allowing himself some moments to stray. He hollowed his cheeks and gave the head an enthusiastic suck. Cyrog huffed. He pushed himself as far as he could go, until his nose met Cyrog’s skin. Cyrog moaned. He stroked Cyrog, hand following mouth, tongue playing with sensitive flesh. Cyrog sighed. He even began thrusting again a little bit into Zendar’s mouth. 

Zendar could feel the tension rising with every move of his head and the gentle sounds that Cyrog made. Cyrog cupped his face with one hand and asked him to look up. Even though Zendar couldn’t see the expression Cyrog was making, he could tell that he was watching him. That was almost enough to get Zendar to become erect once more. 

Cyrog held onto his horn and began using it to help Zendar into the desired motion. “You’re going to take it all, understand?” Zendar nodded, mouth still around Cyrog. His breath grew shallow as his core began to tighten. “Keep your face towards me.” He let go of Zendar’s horn and Zendar continued the pace. Cyrog’s fingers laced through Zendar’s hair. His nails pressed into his scalp as he roared with pleasure, releasing into Zendar’s mouth. 

Though somewhat unpleasant, Zendar swallowed. Some of it dripped out. Most of it went in. Zendar continued sucking. “Clean it up for me,” Cyrog asked. That was the last request Zendar was taking for the night. It was worth hearing Cyrog switch from laughing and moaning as he did so. 

When Zendar was done, he wiped his face with the back of his hand and managed to get to his feet. He reached for one of the bottles, unstoppered it, and drank a big gulp of wine to mask the aftertaste. Cyrog reached for him and pulled them together by the waist. As soon as Zendar’s lips left the bottle, Cyrog replaced it. 

Their tongues mingled. Cyrog’s hand wandered down Zendar’s back to his tail to his bottom. Zendar forced himself not to shudder or shake or even quiver under his touch. He’d gotten enough from him tonight. 

“Did you like that?” Cyrog mumbled. 

“Most of it,” Zendar admitted. 

Cyrog kneaded Zendar’s ass for a moment before settling his palms there. “Next time, let me return the favor.” 

“What makes you say there’s going to be a next time?” Zendar couldn’t help himself. 

Cyrog laughed. “Well, there’s only one way to get better and I know you like to hone your skills.” 

Zendar paused. Cyrog was right, and he hated that Cryrog was right. “You just want to show off.” 

“Perhaps that’s the case. Why do they have to be mutually exclusive?” Cyrog retorted. Zendar remained quiet. “Let me bring you to bed.” Neither of them made a move away from the embrace. Zendar would’ve but when he realized how long a moment had passed, he didn’t want to call further attention to it. 

“No offense, but I don’t really like sharing a bed.” 

“No worries. I’ll just join you in the morning when you’re awake, if that’s alright with you.” 

They stood in thoughtful silence. The effect of alcohol had long since burned away and the new wave of it from Zendar’s most recent swing rippled through him. Zendar could blame that for what he said next. “That’s quite alright. As long as you wake me up yourself.” 


End file.
